“Several months ago.” she went on rapidly, still avoiding his eyes and forcing the words from her reluctant lips, “I—oh, I needed money—terribly.”
She had risen and faced him, pressing her daintily gloved hands together in a little tremble of emotion which was none the less genuine because she had studied the art of emotion.
“I took the necklace to a jeweler, Herman Schloss, of Maiden Lane, a man with whom my husband had often had dealings and whom I thought I could trust. Under a promise of secrecy he loaned me fifty thousand dollars on it and had an exact replica in paste made by one of his best workmen. This morning, just now, Mr. Schloss telephoned me that his safe had been robbed last night. My necklace is gone!”
She threw out her hands in a wildly appealing gesture.
“And if Lynn finds that the necklace in our wall safe is of paste—as he will find, for he is an expert in diamonds—oh—what shall I do? Can’t you—can’t you find my necklace?”
Kennedy was following her now eagerly. “You were blackmailed out of the money?” he queried casually, masking his question.
There was a sudden, impulsive drooping of her mouth, an evasion and keen wariness in her eyes. “I can’t see that that has anything to do with the robbery,” she answered in a low voice.
“I beg your pardon,” corrected Kennedy quickly. “Perhaps not. I’m sorry. Force of habit, I suppose. You don’t know anything more about the robbery?”
“N—no, only that it seems impossible that it could have happened in a place that has the wonderful burglar alarm protection that Mr. Schloss described to me.”
“You know him pretty well?”